The Young Boy of Tal Al Zaater

In Northern Gaza’s Tal Al-Zatar,

hungry stray cats

wander war-torn streets.

They seach for food among the debris

and for the young boy who always cared for them.

They stumble upon his charred remains,

a life gone astray.

Mohammed Moussa, The Face Before You: To Write Poetry on Genocide.

Notes. 

‘Listen to yourself,’ wasn’t some piece of New Age advice when we were younger. A whack on the lug was the remedy. My wee brother, Bod wasn’t one to listen to himself. He was dog mad. Always wanting some kind of animal. Mum and dad didn’t have pets in those days. We had children. Summy next door had a Labrador. Goldie lolled about the garden and chased cars down the road. Before trekking back up and panting contently with its tongue dangling. A sign of moral failure. The kind of family that hadn’t listened to themselves.